Let's Fade as Brothers
by CallXMeXFlame
Summary: When Dylan gets Allistor to try to 'get to know' Arthur...
1. Get to know YOU?

_Puck._ "You know, you could be spending your time a little more... _productively._" _Puck._ "I am. I han't thrown that 'art, it wouldn't be there." I replied, pointing a crooked finger at the dart I'd just thrown. Dylan sighed, crossed over to the board and plucked the latest dart out. "Hey..." I groaned as I watched him do it. Dylan turned the dart in his fingers and threw it at me, and it poked my cheek with its dull tip before falling onto my lap.

"Okay, Sir Efficient," I growled, picking the dart up and tossing it over my shoulder, "what would you suggest?" "Oh, I don't know," Dylan started sarcastically, "Maybe spending some time with your younger sibling?" I reached over to the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, muttering, "Irelan' is fine." Dylan leaned over and pushed the package out of my lazy reach.

"I'm _talking_ about _Arthur._" he replied in something of an exasperated tone. I leaned back into the sofa and plucked the dead cigarette out of my mouth, mildly blowing a faint trail of gray smoke. Mindlessly smudging the end of it on the ash tray, I wondered if I'd actually listen to him this time. It wasn't like he didn't drop by every several days just to scold me about how dirty the place was, like a parent telling a kid to clean their room. Similar problem, similar results; the place is a wreck.

"C'mon, just listen to me, okay?" Dylan pleaded. "You know how this goes. You've stormed in here every week for the last seventeen weeks telling me to stop smoking." To complete the point, I leaned over, grabbed a cigarette and twirled it in my fingers. Dylan just looked at me, confused. "How do you know it was seventeen..." A sharp glance in my eye, I jerked a hard thumb at seventeen deep, jagged carvings in the wall behind me. My brother pointed an acknowledging finger at the wrenched, irritable indentions, and looked back at me.

"Really though, you do what to get along with your brother, right?" I shrugged and picked up my neon green lighter, only to have it snatched away by Dylan. "I can't see why not, but I know I ha' a really goo' reason to say no... oh yeah. I can't see why." Dylan raised his arm, and I instinctively grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him. Target hit, unfortunately.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" he cried ridiculously. I raised an eyebrow. "You weren't gonna hit me?" Dylan rolled his eyes. "No, I ran out of creative ways to annoy you. But seriously, can't you spend as much time with Arthur as you do with..." Dylan desperately searched the room, and his mind, by the looks of it, to find something to complete his statement.

Suddenly, he took the unlit cigarette out of my mouth and threw it at my forehead. I have no idea how we get along so well. "...your bloody cigarettes?" I frowned and took hold of the cigarette that ended up on my knee, examining it. "These guys 'on't last too long, so no in'ivi'ual one has much meaning to me." I replied practically. I held out a hand. "By the way, I' like my lighter back." Don't ask me why, but somehow, Dylan had hold on the collar of my shirt and was, quite literally, dragging me out the front door, leaving me still wondering when I'd see my lovely lighter again.

Dylan ended up dragging me all the way to Arthur's beeping house. _Beeping. Again._ As if this was completely normal(which it was), Dylan walked up to the house, opened the three windows on its front wall, and climbed in through one. I followed.

Smoke seemed to fill the entire house. I couldn't see three feet in front of me, so Dylan and I resorted to trusting our hands and memory of the interior of the household to find our way to the kitchen, calling "England" over and over. We found him pounding dreadfully on a piece of parchment on a kitchen counter, a good three-foot fire burning peacefully to his left. I walked over and shut off the stove while Dylan got the fire extinguisher(we all know its location better than we know our religion) and sprayed down the flames. Arthur was still pounding on that poor parchment by the time we'd filtered the house of smoke.

"Okay, England, what happened?" Dylan asked, exasperated by now. Of course, we all knew that Arthur hadn't the slightest idea what went wrong in the cooking, but he could probably explain where his depression was being fueled. Knowing him, he went to an American fast-food restaurant and found that its crap was better than his. England turned to his eldest brother, parchment in hand and accusing finger pointing to it. "This said... and that... and then it said... and then... so then... and I thought..." Arthur drabbled on and on while Dylan tried to hush him. I walked over to my brother and sighed.

"Okay, Englan'. First thing, you never _think_ when you're cooking. You look over the recipe. If you have all of the _right_ stuff, you do it. If you 'on't have the right things, you forget about it. You can't make substitutes and expect it all to turn out just right." I explained tiredly. Arthur turned to me. "But it said... and then I..." "Nope. Doesn't work. And by the way, your burner was on high. It says here to keep it on low at all times." I commented, pointing a finger at said-instruction. By that time, Dylan was doing the finishing touches on cleaning up.

"And another thing," Dylan remarked, holding up a large spatula, "I do believe the instructions required a two-inch-wide spatula or _smaller._ And it looks like most of the sugar you were supposed to put in whatever in the world you were making ended up on the _floor._" he told his younger brother, who by this time was on the edge of tearing up the recipe.

"So... what was you're final result..?" I inquired, unsure whether or not I really wanted to know. Dylan and I peered into the dish which was burning on the stove not ten minutes before. What lay inside was a rather sorry-looking slab that looked sort of like death itself; entirely black and undefined by nature. For testing's sake, I took a fork and poked it. I seriously was about to bolt when the thing reacted like jello- the outside cracked and fell apart to expose a soft and squishy interior, which oozed a mysterious brown liquid. Maybe I _should_ have bolted, or at least stopped and talked myself out of stabbing a piece of the stuff off and putting it in my mouth._ Raw meat boiled in lime juice, seasoned and topped in liquified carrots and whipped cream._ I felt my face go green and I ran for a bathroom.

"And you want me to get to know_ that _guy?" I questioned Dylan on our way back to my place. Dylan sighed. "Hey, it's not like he's cooking around the clock." he pointed out. I rolled my eyes. "That thing looked more like part of a nuclear bomb than something regularly eaten _anywhere_."

"C'mon, give him a chance. He's your brother! And what do you have to lose anyway?" "My face and a few limbs..." I muttered. Dylan tried again. "Okay, but you do have something to _gain,_ right?" I shrugged. "Nothing that I need," I remarked. "How about..." Dylan dug into his pocket, "this?" He flashed my neon lighter in front of his grin. I blinked, then glared at it.

"Give that back!" I threw out a hand after it, and Dylan ran off, leaving me to chase my lovely flash of green.


	2. Here goes nothing

"Hey! Get up!" Groaning, I opened one foggy eye. "What, what?" I mumbled. "You're going to clean this place!" After registering and re-registering that last statement about five times, I threw the sheet back over my head, muttering something about a bad dream. A voice sighed. "C'mon, you're the only one with the ingredients!" I retracted the sheet a few inches, directing one suspicious eye at Dylan.

"What are you talking about?" I questioned in a surprisingly wide-awake voice. "You are going to show your brother how to make something in the kitchen, and considering the only thing you make yourself at home is whiskey, you'll just have to show him how to make that. But, you're the only one with the right ingredients for it, and there is no way I'm letting you invite Arthur over with your place like this." Dylan explained, motioning around the room.

My eyes closed, I sat up and scratched the back of my head, yawning. "Yeah, one problem, I never sai' I' do any of this." "No, but you're going to!" Dylan replied happily. After dragging me out of bed, he attempted putting me to work. Unfortunately, it didn't work too well, considering I fell asleep any chance I got. Looking at the clock, it was about 5 in the morning.

The cleaning, Dylan pretty much did. I can't really recognize the place anymore- it's all... not there. I mean, two hours ago, I could get up out of my room and see the tv remote on top of yesterday's newspaper and a glass of whatever I had yesterday and was going to finish today on the floor, and my darts spread out across the room, though I knew where every one of them was. Now, I had to completely re-find my darts, get a new glass of whatever, _and_ get_ today's _newspaper to read. When it comes to news, I still feel like I'm living in the future.

**xxxx**

"Dabadabadaba! Noooo," Dylan cried from the living room. I paused. "Then where am I suppose' to put it?" I asked, the package an inch from the surface of the coffee table. "In the _drawer._" Dylan reminded me. I looked at the cigarettes, confused, as if they would tell me where he was getting this nonsense. "But how am I gonna remember it's there?" I questioned further. Dylan sighed. "Look, if you forget where stuff is, just text me or something." "I'm running out of cre'its." I told him. Dylan waved me off. "You'll get more next week, right? All you need to know is where your kitchen is. I haven't moved anything in there."

I looked to said-kitchen. "But I haven't used the kitchen since the last time you came and cleare' it out. I 'on't know where stuff is still." Dylan covered his face with his hand. "Look, do I seriously need to stay here all day and show you around your own _house_?" I shrugged. "Consi'ering this is your doing, that woul' be pretty han'y." "Hey, I'm doing you a favor!" I walked over to the living room to put the cigarettes away. "Yeah, one I never aske' for." I responded, closing the drawer and crashing on the couch. Dylan rolled his eyes and continued reading a book.

"Hey, 'o you think I'm even gonna remember this stuff by the time it's good?" I asked curiously. Dylan shrugged. "If you keep it somewhere, probably." He looked over to me. "You know, aren't you supposed to have a ten-pound thing of something?" I blinked. "Yeah, of barley, why?" Dylan looked back at his book. "Do you have ten pounds of barley laying around?" he questioned. I shrugged. "Gee, wish I knew. You're the one who cleare' out the kitchen shoul'n't you be the one to know this stuff?" Dyland rolled his eyes. "C'mon, this was how many years ago? With all the crazy stuff that was in there, I think ten pounds of barley would have gone right over my head."

I sighed. "Anyway, ten poun's is for a whole bunch of the stuff. We can probably 'ivide the entire recipe into fifths and we' be fine." Dylan shrugged, probably only partially listening to me now. Suddenly, he whipped his phone out of nowhere and speed-dialed a number. In moments, he was talking.

"Hello Arthur, would you come to your brother's house today? No, other brother, yes him. Now now. He can show you how to make something out of the kitchen. Hm? Ah yes, let's see, is one hour good for you? Yes, it's early I know, but what we have in mind will take a while to prepare. Whiskey. Yes, which means you can come over again in a few weeks, or he can take care of it himself. That's very good. Thank you." Leaning back in the sofa, I put a hand across my eyes. There was no way out of this mess now.

**xxxx**

_Ding do- pffff... _"You still haven't gotten that fixed?" Dylan cried ridiculously, just because it was something to pester me about. "It's a much more relaxing sound... I never like' that last 'ng'." I explained casually. Dylan rolled his eyes and opened the front door to reveal a rather disturbed-looking Arthur. I stood up and held up a hand before Dylan welcomed him in, uttering in advance, "I ha' nothing to 'o with this." Of course, Dylan ignored me and invited Arthur in, even though it's my house. Whatever.

"I'm glad you could come!" Dylan greeted. "It was either this or America coming over..." Arthur muttered. He turned to me. "Whiskey?" I pointed to Dylan. "Says him." Dylan closed the door and put a hand on Arthur's shoulder reassuringly. "It's a Scotch Malt whiskey. We-" "_He,_" I interrupted, and he continued "have everything ready in the kitchen." I'll tell you now, if you're making whiskey, 'everything' is a lot. Hence the marveling-and-slightly-horrified expression pasted on Arthur's face when he saw everything we had to use.

As for the supportive-older-brother, he was already at the open front door, waving good-bye. There goes that route of escape. _Awkward moment._

Arthur crossed his arms. "So just what are we supposed to do?" I picked up the barley. "We make whiskey."

**xxxx**

It was pretty much instruction and silence while I assisted the beginning of the transformation from barley to the malt. An hour into the process, Arthur tapped my shoulder. "Hey Scotland," I turned to him. "What's up?" Arthur looked at his watch. "I'd better leave. America will think I've swallowed a fly." I nodded, then frowned, crossing over to the coffee table, Arthur following, confused. I stared at the blank surface.

"My cigarettes." "Huh?" I pointed an accusing finger at the empty table. "My cigarettes. They're gone. Where are my cigarettes?" I demanded of the glass. Arthur casted a glance around the room. "I don't know..." "AGHHH?" I sprinted back to the kitchen, tearing out every cabinet and scraping the bottom of every hopeless pan. Rushing back to the living room, I shoveled out every nitch and shelf, all to no avail. My precious cancer sticks were gone.

For who knows how long, I scraped out every inch of my house, until a calm hand slipped said-package right in front of me. Grabbing a cigarette desperately out of the plastic wrapping, I plucked my second-coolest lighter of my pocket and flicked the flame on and waved it on the end of the delightful cigarette.

"Check in the _drawer,_ idiot." Yeah. I'll never thank him.


End file.
